


The Three Date Problem

by Ms_Moriarty



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Awkwardness, Coffee, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-11
Updated: 2012-05-21
Packaged: 2017-11-05 04:12:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/402312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ms_Moriarty/pseuds/Ms_Moriarty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The three dates of Jim and Molly, based heavily off of Molly's blog [http://www.mollyhooper.co.uk].</p><p>The canteen is empty when Molly walks in. It is the night shift after all, and not many people enjoy hanging around the hospital after midnight if they don't have to. The place tends to give most people the creeps after dark, but Molly doesn't mind, even though, or perhaps because, she works in the morgue, of all places. However, it's not the hospital itself that is making her nervous tonight, as she wrings her hands and starts the coffee pot, adding enough water and ground coffee to make two cups.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The canteen is empty when Molly walks in. It is the night shift after all, and not many people enjoy hanging around the hospital after midnight if they don't have to. The place tends to give most people the creeps after dark, but Molly doesn't mind, even though, or perhaps _because_ , she works in the morgue, of all places. However, it's not the hospital itself that is making her nervous tonight, as she wrings her hands and starts the coffee pot, adding enough water and ground coffee to make two cups.

Jim Moriarty can practically _smell_ how unsettled Molly is before he even walks into the room. With his killer instincts, fear is like blood in the water, and he can sense it a mile off. He can hear her tapping her feet on the tile floor, and he can hear how her hands shake as she removes the plastic from a new stack of Styrofoam cups. He can just imagine the sound of her heart pounding in her ears against the silence of the empty room.

Jim smiles to himself, knowing that while this is going to be remarkably easy, and, more likely than not, incredibly tedious, it will all pay off in the end. Molly will get him significantly closer to Sherlock, and the consulting detective will be none the wiser. Sherlock will be completely in the dark until Jim  _wants_ him to know about just how close he has managed to get. For now though, he just needs to take his time, and focus on worming his way into the life of little Molly Hooper.

He pushes the door open, and steps into the canteen, inwardly relishing the fact that Molly jumps slightly as he enters. She takes a second to compose her nerves before turning around to meet the man she only met online five minutes ago. She had been incredibly flattered to discover that someone actually reads her blog. 

“Hi, I'm Jim,” the man smiles sheepishly, twisting his left foot on the tile floor, expressing the perfect level of discomfiture.

“Molly,” she introduces herself, both of them taking a step closer and reaching apprehensively to shake hands.

“The coffee is almost ready,” Molly mutters, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Do you want to sit and wait or something?” Jim suggests meekly.

“Sure,” she smiles slightly, but genuinely.

Jim pulls a chair out for her at one of the small tables, though he nearly knocks the table over as the chair becomes tangled with one of the table legs.

“Oops,” he winces, “I'm so sorry. I'm just so clumsy!”

Molly giggles, trying to hide her amusement by covering her mouth with one hand.

Jim glances at her, looking slightly hurt by her reaction.

“Sorry, I didn't mean to laugh,” she apologises, becoming slightly more at ease, “If it makes you feel better, sometimes I lose things and can't find them for ages.”

“Really?” Jim cheers a bit, smiling encouragingly.

Almost immediately, something about Jim's demeanour makes her feel as if she can trust him completely – perhaps it's that she already feels that they are so much alike. They both seem equally nervous and awkward, they work at the same hospital, and even though they haven't met before just now, Molly feels like she's known him for a long time.

Molly blushes, “Once, I was doing a post-mortem, and I almost sewed a body back up with one of my earrings inside.”

Jim's eyes widen in surprise, and Molly notices that even their eyes are the same colour. “Well, lucky you discovered it in time then.” 

“I suppose it was, wasn't it?” she beams.

There is a brief awkward pause before Jim chimes in suddenly, “Your nose is even cuter up close.”

Molly looks quickly at the table and blushes, wringing her hands once again. “Thank you,” she stammers sheepishly.

“You're really nice,” he adds quickly.

“You too.”

“So... what is a nice person like you doing here?” he inquires, changing the subject, “Working in the morgue, performing autopsies?”

“Oh, I'm not good enough to do real surgery,” she shakes her head. "I don't think I'd be very good dealing with live patients."

“Nonsense,” Jim smiles brightly at the pathologist, “You're being too modest. I'm sure you're plenty good enough. If you put your mind to it, I'm sure you could work your way up to whatever you'd like.”

“Well thank you,” she smiles, looking up to meet Jim's warm, brown eyes. “I suppose I could if I wanted, but I really like my job. It's nice and... quiet. I don't have to deal with other people much... which is nice. Corpses don't ever complain or anything.”

“I suppose not,” Jim jokes lightly. “It might be a problem if they did.”

Molly giggles, relieving the tension she had been accumulating concerning her various inadequacies. Jim is making her feel very much at ease, which is no simple feat, given how prone she is to nervousness in social situations.

“The water's boiled,” Jim points out, nodding in the direction of the coffee pot, as their nostrils fill with the scent of freshly brewed coffee.

Molly starts to get out of her chair, but Jim interrupts, “Let me get it.”

“I'll do it,” she insists, the adds jokingly, “Wouldn't want you to spill.”

They both laugh with slightly awkward discomfort, but the feeling passes quickly.

“Do you want anything in your coffee?” she asks.

“Creamer and sugar both, please.”

Molly opens several packets of both and empties them into Jim's cup, before putting two packets of sugar into her own. Normally she would take more sugar, but she tells herself she should cut down because it's unhealthy – though truthfully she knows that's not the entirety of her reasoning.

She stirs both beverages and takes them to the table, setting one in front of Jim.

“Did I do alright?” she asks as he takes a sip.

“Prefect, thank you,” he confirms, smiling broadly. “You're a natural.”

“Thanks,” she blushes once again. “So... You work in IT?”

“Yeah,” he takes another sip of his coffee.

“I got the feeling that you don't like the night shift...”

“Well... no,” he confirms. “Hardly anyone needs me after midnight, so there's just not a lot to do. It gets a bit boring and lonely after a while. I just sit doing crossword puzzles, and then if someone actually does have a problem, it's usually really easy to fix.”

Molly takes a sip of her own coffee, making a face as she nearly chokes at how bitter it tastes.

“You okay?” Jim's eyes widen and his eyebrows raise with concern.

“Yeah, just needs more sugar,” she forces a smile.

“Please, let me,” he picks up her coffee, taking it back to the counter-top, and stirs in three more packets. He brings the cup back and carefully sets it in front of Molly, placing his right hand casually on her shoulder. “Better?”

Molly tastes the coffee nervously, and Jim notices that her hand is shaking slightly.

“Loads better, thanks,” she looks up at him, then to his hand on her shoulder.

“Oh,” Jim draws his hand away suddenly, “Sorry.”

“No it's... it's okay,” Molly stammers into her cup, eyes glued to the floor.

“I shouldn't have though,” he sighs, “I'm not very good at this, am I?”

“Really,” Molly's voice steadies a bit, though she still averts her eyes, “it's fine.”

Jim glances nervously at the clock on the wall, “I think I'd better be going, my break is almost over...”

“Oh... okay,” Molly acknowledges, looking slightly defeated.

“It was really nice meeting you,” the words tumble out of Jim's mouth as if he hadn't entirely planned on saying them. He looks quickly to his coffee on the table and picks it up with a now shaky hand. “Maybe we could... Could we do this again sometime?”

“I'd like that,” Molly confirms, her entire face beginning turn bright pink.

“Great! Well, um, thanks again for the coffee. Here's my number," he pulls a pen out of his pocket, and scribbles a few digits on a napkin and passes it to her, "I guess maybe I'll see you around,” Jim smiles awkwardly, ushering himself from the room and leaving behind a slightly giddy Molly Hooper, who is clutching the napkin more tightly than strictly necessary.

He rounds the corner and tosses his coffee into the nearest bin, before exiting the building and heading back to his own flat for the night. Jim Moriarty prefers his coffee black.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They had agreed to meet at Molly's flat at seven, then head out for coffee at the shop down the street. Proper coffee this time, not the cheap kind that St Bart's keeps on hand for the staff.

They had agreed to meet at Molly's flat at seven, then head out for coffee at the shop down the street. Proper coffee this time, not the cheap kind that St Bart's keeps on hand for the staff. Molly takes ages to decide what to wear. This is the first time she has gone out with anyone in ages, and the very first time going anywhere with Jim. He's only ever seen her in her lab coat, which even Molly acknowledges isn't entirely flattering. Not wanting to seem overly formal, she finally decides on a dark pair of jeans and navy cardigan over an oatmeal coloured top. Just as she finishes dressing, she hears the bell.

“Coming!” she shouts as she grabs her bag from the armchair in her sitting room. She wrenches the door open a little too enthusiastically, and it catches her foot, causing her to wince.

“Bad time?” Jim inquires, taking into account the pained look on Molly's face.

She smiles easily, “No, it's great.”

“You're ready to go then?” He's sporting blue jeans and a black and teal striped v-neck, which Molly finds particularly flattering on him.

“Yeah, just let me make sure I have my keys,” she rummages through her bag until she finds them, feeling Jim's gaze on her the entire time. She realises that she would normally feel incredibly nervous going out with someone for the first time, but as soon as she opened the door, she had the inexplicable feeling that it was going to be a good night. Usually she doesn't take to people so quickly, but Jim is so kind and mild-mannered she finds it incredibly easy to be around him.

She closes the door behind her and looks up, her eyes meeting Jim's for just a second, but it's long enough for her to feel blood rush to her cheeks. Thankfully it is dark enough outside that she can reasonably hope that he hasn't noticed, even though he has.

Breaking eye contact, she nods to the right, over Jim's shoulder, “It's just down that way.”

“Shall we, then?” he holds out his arm for her.

“You're such a proper gentleman,” Molly observes, fidgeting with the strap of her bag, which has already begun to slide down her shoulder.

Jim smiles back warmly, “Just good manners, nothing special.”

“No really,” she insists, “It's really very nice of you.”

“Well I'm glad you think so,” he replies. As they reach the coffee shop, he holds the door open for Molly, as well as for the elderly couple who had been following closely behind them.

“Do you know what you want?” Molly asks, joining the line in front of the counter.

Jim shakes his head, “Not really. What are you getting?”

“The have a cinnamon spice mocha that's really good...”

“Okay, if that's what you want, I'll just get two.”

“No, it's okay,” Molly insists, “I can pay for my own.”

“Are you sure, because I can...”

Molly reaches into her bag and pulls out a worn Minnie Mouse wallet, “Maybe next time,” she smiles up at him, pulling out a few notes.

Jim sees her wallet and can't help but stare.

“Oh!” Molly exclaims, stuffing the wallet back into her bag. “How embarrassing.”

“I thought it was cute,” Jim reassures.

Molly blushes, “You really are too nice. It was a gift.”

Their conversation is suddenly cut short as they reach the counter. Both order and pay for their own coffee, though not without a few awkward glances between the two of them as they both reach out to pay at the same time. After a few minutes of awkward waiting, and plenty of fidgeting on Molly's part, they are handed their coffees and settle into chairs at a small table in the back corner.

Jim blows carefully into his cup before taking a sip, complimenting Molly on her taste in coffee before changing the subject, “Why don't you tell me more about your job? It sounds really interesting.”

Molly looks absently into her cup, “I don't know if you really want to hear about it.”

“Of course I do, I asked, didn't I?”

“Well,” she clarifies, “post-mortems aren't something people usually want to discuss while they're eating or drinking is all.”

Jim shrugs, still smiling, “Alright well, what about the people you work with then?”

“I usually just work by myself,” Molly looks back at Jim, avoiding his eyes.

“Oh...” he trails off, as if he were about to say something else.

Molly meets his eyes with a questioning look, “What?”

“Well, you mentioned some people in your blog the other day is all. I thought maybe they worked with you. Caroline, and... what was his name... Sherlock?”

Even in the dim light of the coffee shop, the flush in Molly's cheeks is obvious at the mention of Sherlock's name.

“No one was supposed to read that,” she mumbles into her cup.

Jim scans her face, “Sorry. It's just that you said Sherlock was flirting with you. I wondered if...” he trails off and Molly looks up and meets his eyes. He looks conflicted, like he's not sure if he should continue.

A realisation dawns on Molly, “Oh, no, I'm not seeing him or anything! He just comes in sometimes and asks me to help with some of his cases. That's all... really.”

“Cases? Like a police officer?”

“Not quite,” Molly drops her voice to a secretive whisper, “he's a consulting detective.”

“So not a police officer then?”

“Well, he helps the police sometimes, but mostly he works on his own. It's really interesting. He can tell all sorts of things about people just by looking at them.”

Jim raises his eyebrows sceptically, “Really? What kind of things?”

“I've seen him do it loads of times. He can tell if you've done your hair differently, or where you've been... he even knew when I got my cat because of the hair on my jumper.”

His eyes widen, though he looks a little bit hurt by her gushing, “That's impressive.”

Molly notices as Jim casts his eyes down into his coffee, taking a long drink, “But like I said, there isn't anything going on between us. He's just a friend.”

“But you still said he was flirting with you,” the way he says it sounds almost like a question.

“Oh, I was probably just imagining it,” she purses her lips slightly, “He's only ever nice to me when he wants something.”

“He doesn't sound like a very good friend then,” Jim states plainly.

Molly takes another thoughtful sip of her coffee, “I suppose not. He's not nearly as nice as you are.” She smiles timidly, setting her coffee down on the table, splaying her hand next to the cup.

He beams back at her, their eyes meeting, and they hold each other's gaze for several seconds.

Jim reaches forward and covers her right hand with his left, running his thumb lightly over hers, “You deserve someone who treats you well, Molly.” He nods slightly, scanning her face as she blushes profusely.

“Thank you,” she attempts to reach nervously for her coffee, not giving thought to the fact that her gesture is impeded by the weight of Jim's hand on her own. This miscalculated move causes her to upset her half empty coffee cup, spilling coffee across the table and down the front of her outfit.

Jim jumps up, grabbing a handful of napkins and mopping up the mess on the table. “I'm so sorry!”

Molly shakes her head, “It's my fault, really. I wasn't thinking.”

Jim hands her a wad of napkins, eyes darting nervously, not knowing where to look or what to do to salvage the situation.

“Still though, if I hadn't...”

“Jim, it's fine. Really. I'll just need to throw them in the wash as soon as possible and the stain should come right out.”

“Oh, right then. Well, is there anything else I can do, or should I just... go?” he offers, a bit dejectedly.

Molly looks saddened by the prospect of Jim leaving, “Please don't go. We can just head back to my place, and I'll change. This doesn't have to ruin the whole evening, does it?”

Jim smiles apprehensively, “Let's get you home then.” He offers his arm once again, and they head back to Molly's flat, the front of her outfit splashed with coffee.

Once safely in her sitting room, “Wait here!” Molly announces, a little more loudly than she intended, as scurries off to her bedroom for a change of clothes. “Make yourself at home, I'll be out in a minute!” she shouts again, out of necessity this time.

She quickly realises that most of her clothes are already in the wash, and settles for a pair of pyjamas which she desperately hopes can pass for something at least slightly less casual. They're relatively plain looking and could pass for a t-shirt and lounge pants. Carting a basketful of clothes, she shuffles through the sitting room, and down the stairs, dumping her laundry into the first available machine, before walking back as casually as possible in her hurried state.

Slightly out of breath, she gasps, “All settled.”

Jim smiles back at her from the sofa, where he has been sitting patiently. Her cat, Toby, curled up in his lap, looking as contend at Molly has ever seen him.

“Oh, he adores you!” she exclaims, “When Caroline came round last month, he nearly clawed her hand off. Then again, she _was_ driving me a bit mad at the time...”

“Cats can sense things like that, I think,” Jim notes, scratching Toby behind the ears, causing the cat to purr contentedly, “They know if someone's not quite who they seem to be.”

“Caroline wasn't bad... just a bit annoying. But it looks like he loves you! A Toby seal of approval!” she exclaims brightly. “So... what should we do for the rest of the evening? It's not even eight yet.”

“Is there anything you had in mind?”

“Maybe there's something on telly? I think Glee is on in a few minutes.”

“I've heard of Glee, but I've never seen it, is it good?”

“Well, I think it's wonderful. Is that alright with you? I didn't really plan on anything after coffee, but I didn't plan on having to leave in such a hurry...”

Jim pats the cushion next to him, disturbing Toby enough that he jumps off of Jim's lap and pads into Molly's bedroom. Molly picks up the remote and turns to the proper channel before sitting down, leaving only a small space between her and Jim.

A few minutes into the programme, Jim wraps his left arm around Molly's shoulders. She looks up at him, and just as he is about to ask if it's all right for him to do so, Molly pulls the blanket off the back of the sofa and asks, “Are you chilly?”

“A bit, yeah,” he admits somewhat sheepishly, allowing Molly to drape the blanket over the two of them, and settling her head on Jim's shoulder with a contented smile on her face.

When the programme ends, neither Molly nor Jim move. They sit together in contended silence until Toby saunters back into the room, and starts rubbing against their ankles.

“I'd better get going, I have to work at midnight again,” Jim sighs.

Molly tilts her head up and her eyes skim across Jim's features, lit blue from the flicker of the screen. “Jim?”

“Yeah?” he looks down at her, his chocolate eyes practically fathomless in the dim light. Molly finds herself dumbfounded, and forgets entirely what it was that she was about to say. She even realises her mouth is hanging open just slightly, and yet she can't quite bring herself to move enough to make her own lips meet. She feels so transfixed that she has become completely paralysed, until Jim leans down and softly presses his lips to hers.

Molly's eyes close involuntarily before her mind fully registers what's happening. Here she is on her sofa, in her pyjamas, wrapped up in a blanket with a man she's only known for a few days. And yet it doesn't seem odd or unnatural how quickly things are moving between the two of them. He's so kind, gentle, and considerate. Even Toby seems to agree that Jim is a suitably non-threatening.

Jim cups Molly's face with his right hand, caressing her cheekbone softly with his thumb. She practically melts into him, pulling herself in closer, until Jim pulls away a few seconds later.

He clears his throat softly, “I really should be off... but I'm free at noon tomorrow. Do you want to grab lunch?”

“I would love to,” she says dazedly before extricating herself from the tangled blanket and walking Jim to the door.

“I had a great night,” he affirms, giving Molly a quick peck on the cheek.

“Me too,” Molly beams, opening the door for him, “I'll see you tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow,” Jim confirms before walking out onto the street.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for skipping over Glee. I've never watched the show, so I wouldn't know what to say about it.


	3. Chapter 3

 Jim meets Molly in the morgue at noon sharp the next day. He pushes through the swinging door and gives her a warm smile, “Are you ready for lunch?”

Molly is just hanging up her lab coat as he enters, and she smiles back at him, “Yeah. Where are we going?”

He taps his fingers rhythmically against the wood, “Just a little café not far from here. It's a beautiful day, so I thought we could walk there and then eat at one of the tables outside.”

“That sounds lovely,” Molly beams, grabbing her bag and flipping off the lights.

Suddenly and unexpectedly, Jim holds out his hand, offering it to Molly. She looks at him, his dark silhouette outlined by the lights in the hallway. The gesture makes her slightly nervous, but clearly in a good way. She swallows hard, fighting against the urge to giggle and the butterflies in her stomach as she takes his hand. Having her hand in his feels so natural.

“Anything interesting happen today?” Jim asks casually as they walk out onto the street hand-in-hand.

“Nothing really. Sherlock came in again this morning,” she shrugs, looking across the street distractedly.

Jim glances down at her, “Oh? And how did that go?”

“He was his usual self,” she explains, her eyes wandering to the pavement directly in front of her shoes. “He wanted to examine the hypothalamus of one of the brains we have, but I told him that I would have to get permission to let him do any testing.” She looks up at Jim briefly, “Don't tell anyone, but I let him have it anyway. He can be really persuasive when he wants to be.”

Jim laughs warmly, “So, if _I_ walked into the morgue and asked to examine a hypothalamus, would you let me?”

Molly raises her eyebrows, “I don't know why you would want to. But I suppose if you had a good enough reason, I might. Would you really want to see one? A brain, I mean,” she blushes slightly.

He shrugs, looking directly ahead, “I probably wouldn't even know what to look at. I work with technology, not body parts. I suppose it is rather interesting though, isn't it? All the little squishy parts inside of us that make life possible...”

“I suppose it is,” her eyes go out of focus as she really thinks about what Jim has said. It seems profound somehow in its simplicity, though perhaps not eloquently phrased.

“We're just a bunch of little parts in the end, working together to make a functioning person. I suppose it's not really all that different from a computer, when you think about it. If a crucial part breaks, then it needs to be fixed, or the whole machine breaks down.”

Molly nods timidly, as they arrive at the café and Jim holds open the door for her.

“Just the two of us. And we'd like to sit outside, please,” Jim murmurs to the hostess, who immediately shows them to their table. They sit across from one another at a little round table, under the shade of a canopy. There are a few other people around, but it's not nearly as busy as Molly would have expected.

Jim turns back to Molly, continuing their earlier conversation, “Any idea what Sherlock wanted to look at a hypothalamus for? One of his cases?” Jim inquires, opening his menu.

“I suppose so, but he didn't say. He doesn't talk to me much when he's in, though he does talk to himself sometimes. Mostly he just sits there and works by himself.”

“That must mean he likes what he does, if he's that focused. That's good,” he looks up at Molly and raises his eyebrows pointedly.

Molly blushes slightly as their eyes meet.“Yeah, good,” she mumbles. She looks down hurriedly at her menu, “Is there anything you would recommend?”

“All of their wraps are really good. I think I'm going to get the Greek wrap, but the spicy turkey wrap is great too.”

A second later the waiter comes by brings two glasses of water and takes their orders. For a few moments they sit in awkward silence, unwrapping their cutlery and placing their napkins in their laps.

“Jim?” Molly asks tentatively.

“Yes?”

She wrings her hands nervously, “Why are you inviting me to get coffees and lunch?”

He stares at her for a moment, as if he can't believe she's asking, “I like spending time with you, Molly.”

“That's awfully nice of you to say, but... I'm really not all that interesting.”

Jim tilts his head, “You work in the morgue. I think _that's_ interesting. Very interesting. I'm sure that took a lot of training, so that means you're clever and... you're rather cute too.”

“Thanks,” Molly's face flushes bright pink as their entrées are set in front of them. “It's just... this is our third date now and...”

“Second,” Jim corrects.

“Second?”

“Well, coffee at the hospital barely counts. We just sort of met up in the canteen, it wasn't really a proper date,” he elaborates.

“Right then,” she adjusts her posture to sit up straighter, “It's our second date, and I don't really know much about you.”

“Ah. You see, I'm really not interesting at all,” he takes a bite of his wrap, a piece of feta cheese falling out the bottom end.

“That's what I said about me,” she reminds him.

Jim chews and swallows carefully, “Yes, but you really _are_ interesting. I just sit upstairs and answer questions about technological odds and ends.”

“You must have hobbies...”

“Really, I'm quite boring...” he shrugs, “I sit around and read a lot.”

“What do you read?” she asks, clearly intrigued.

“Non-fiction mostly,” he starts scooping up the pieces of his wrap which have fallen onto his plate with his fork, “I like learning things, but I never end up doing much with the information. Not much need for knowledge of military history in the IT department,” he smiles bashfully, looking down at his nearly-empty plate. “I like going out with you because you're fun to be around. I don't spend much time with other people.”

“Me neither,” Molly accedes, “Corpses don't talk.”

They both laugh awkwardly, realising that the joke has been used before.

“We'd better get back soon,” Jim announces, wiping the corners of his mouth with his napkin, “Lunch is almost over.” He pulls out his wallet.

“I can pay for mine,” Molly offers.

“No, I want to,” Jim insists. “You deserve it for being so sweet and keeping me company.”

Molly blushes again, “It was nothing, really.”

“We should have dinner sometime,” he suggests after paying the bill as they walk back to work. “I'm not busy tomorrow night, if you'd like.”

“I'd love to,” Molly grasps his hand and squeezes.

“Great! I'll call you later then,” he beams as they part ways at the doors of St Bart's.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The calm before the storm...


	4. Chapter 4

Molly Hooper has never felt quite so lost. Jim can't possibly be gay. He simply can't. Sherlock is human, so surely he gets things wrong from time to time. Maybe Jim left his number because he wanted Sherlock to call him about a case. Maybe Jim is in trouble and needs Sherlock's help. Maybe he just didn't want to tell her, because he's afraid she'll worry. There are a million explanations for what happened in the lab that afternoon, and Sherlock can't be right about everything. Surely this time he's made a mistake.

Molly has definitely decided to keep her date with Jim. She will be meeting him at The Fox & Goose at six, no matter what Sherlock thinks. It's a nice hotel with a restaurant, and she refuses to let Sherlock ruin her plans. At the very least she needs to talk to Jim about what happened. So as she puts on her make-up and one of her nicer dresses, she rehearses in the mirror what she wants to say. Unfortunately, nothing comes out right. She sounds mad, distressed, embarrassed – but nothing remotely resembling smooth or calm. Eventually, she has to leave to make it to the Fox on time, despite feeling even more unprepared than she had before meeting Jim for the first time.

She arrives at The Fox & Goose five minutes early, and it suddenly occurs to Molly that she doesn't even know Jim's last name. It's simply one of those things that has never come up on conversation, even despite the fact that it definitely should have. Surely Jim has made reservations, but not knowing his last name, there's no much she can do but wait until he arrives. It seems better than making herself look foolish, at least.

About ten minutes later, Molly is starting to feel foolish anyway. She doesn't want to believe that Jim has stood her up, but given what happened that afternoon, she wouldn't be terribly surprised if he never wanted to see her again. And if he's not coming then there's no reason for her to stay around. Just as she is starting to seriously consider leaving, Jim rushes in, looking impeccable, though a bit dishevelled, in a heather grey suit, white shirt, and no tie.

“Sorry!” he stutters at her before adjusting his unbuttoned jacket and murmuring something to the host, which makes him pale ever so slightly.

“Right this way,” the man immediately gestures to what looks like the nicest table in the room.

After they're seated, Molly immediately inquires, “Where were you?” She tries to hide her defensive tone, but it remains barely detectable.

“I'm so sorry!” Jim apologises again, buttoning his jacket, “They kept me late at work. All the computers went down, and I had to fix them before they would let me leave. I told them I had a date but... it was really an emergency,” he confesses, “I was going to call you, but I forgot my phone because I was in such a hurry. I hoped that maybe I could still make it on time, but...”

“Well,” Molly visibly relaxes, “That's hardly your fault, and you're here now. I was starting to get worried.”

“I know, I'm sorry,” he lowers his head.

“It's okay, Jim. You can stop apologising. Really,” she blushes.

“Thanks for understanding,” he smiles, slightly bashful. “This date isn't getting off to quite the start I had hoped for...”

“Oh?” Molly looks puzzled.

“Well it's our first dinner date. I wanted it to go well, but I've already made a mess of things, haven't I?”

“No, you're fine. It's really quite okay. Like I said, you're here now, and that's what counts,” she smiles warmly at him.

“Well, I am definitely paying for both our dinners,” he insists. “I've made a mess of things, but I intend to make up for it.”

Molly smiles, “That's sweet of you, but you don't have to.”

“I want to though. Hopefully, that will make up for my tardiness, and we can move on. Is that all right?”

“Of course,” Molly beams, blushing slightly.

A waiter comes and takes their orders. A glass of wine for each of them, Jim orders the lamb chops, and Molly orders the chicken breast.

After a brief pause, Molly asks, “So... other than your emergency, how have you been?”

“Great. It was nice to finally meet Sherlock,” he admits cheerfully.

Molly turns quite pink, remembering what Sherlock had said that afternoon. She stares intensely at the bare table where her menu used to be.

“Is something wrong?” Jim asks.

Molly keeps her eyes glued to the tabletop, “Is it true, what Sherlock said?” she mumbles.

“About what?” he asks.

“He um... said...” her face deepens to an even brighter shade, “He said that you were gay.”

“Oh...” he pauses.

“Does that mean it's true then?” Jim looks around awkwardly, but doesn't say anything. “Because if you are, that's okay. But...”

“Can we just not talk about it?”

“It's important, Jim. You're really a really nice person, but if you're gay...”

“Just stop. Please?”

“We need to talk about it sometime,” she insists. “It makes a difference, if I'm going on dates with you.”

“After dinner? We'll talk about it after dinner, okay? Just... not now,” he smooths his jacket with one hand.

“Okay,” Molly concedes. “What _do_ you want to talk about then?”

“Work, weather, anything...”

“Well, the only thing that happened today was Sherlock coming in,” she sighs. The topic isn't one she particularly wants to talk about, but it seems better than the alternatives, “There were some some trainers, and he had to find out who they belonged to. Someone left them for him... a clue or something. It's what he was working on when you came in.”

“Did he figure anything out?” Jim looks decidedly more interested in Sherlock than discussing his sexuality. Molly isn't sure if that's a good sign or a bad one.

“Not much, I don't think. He figured out that the shoes were from Sussex, with London mud over top. But that's it as far as I know.”

“That's excellent. Really clever, isn't he?”

“You sure are interested in Sherlock,” Molly observes, a bit disdainfully.

He looks at her with a cool gaze, “What he does is fascinating though, isn't it?”

“Yeah, it's really great,” Molly admits, with just a hint of sarcasm. After a brief pause she asks, “Why did you leave him your number? Are you in some kind of trouble?”

“Molly...” he cautions.

“Jim, I don't know what we're supposed to talk about. All we ever talk about is Sherlock, and I'd really like to know why.”

“Please, Molly,” he's practically begging, “Let's talk about something else then. What do you do other than work in the morgue and think about Sherlock?” Molly blushes at his comment. “Don't think I haven't noticed that you practically turn into a giggling schoolgirl every time his name comes up. You have a thing for him, don't you?”

“Well so do you, apparently,” Molly snaps without thinking.

“That's different,” he half hisses, half whispers.

“How?” Molly asks, her tone blatantly accusatory, “How am I supposed to know how it's different if you won't talk to me about it?”

Jim sighs, “Trust me, it just is. You wouldn't understand.”

“Wouldn't I?” Molly looks as if she's about ready to storm out of the crowded restaurant and make a scene. Her voice has already raised enough that a few people have started turning their heads. “What Sherlock does... it's great. It's impressive, and I know it's complicated, and I know what it's like to be fascinated by what he does... but I have to know if it's more than that, Jim. Because I can't keep seeing you if you're just using me to get to Sherlock.”

“Molly,” Jim says in a calming tone, but he appears to be gritting his teeth, “Just calm down. People are staring.”

She glances around, realising how loud she's become, and that she has completely crumpled her napkin into her fist. “I just don't know if I can do this,” she relaxes, and her eyes start to fill with tears, “You're going to have to tell me what's going on, or I don't think I can keep seeing you.”

Jim swallows visibly, “Molly, I told you, we can talk about this, but let's not make a scene. I've already rented us a room, and we can talk as soon as we're done eating.”

“You've... what?” Molly raises her eyebrows in confusion before she visibly crumples. Her posture and expression both drop simultaneously. “Oh, I... um...”

“It's okay,” he reaches out and covers her hand with his, “We'll talk.”

“Sorry,” Molly mumbles, as the waiter brings them their orders.

They eat their meal in silence, stealing awkward glances at one another when they think the other isn't looking. Only when the dinner is eaten and paid for do they talk again.

“So you got us... a room?” Molly asks timidly, adjusting the neckline of her dress.

Jim scratches the back of his head, “Yeah, I did. If you don't want... we can just go, if you'd like. No pressure or anything, I just...” he stammers.

“We could, just... talk, yeah?” Molly offers.

“Okay. Sure. Let's... we'll just go up and talk. I did promise,” he admits. He leaves her alone for a moment to go get the room key. When he returns, they head upstairs to their room.

The room has sunny yellow walls, auburn carpet, and a double bed. Noticing that there are no chairs, Molly sits cautiously at the end of the mattress, and Jim follows suit.

“Jim,” Molly begins tentatively, but her thoughts are interrupted when Jim places his right hand on hers. He turns to face her, and cups her face in his left hand.

“Molly,” he murmurs, leaning down to meet her lips with his.

She startles slightly but doesn't pull away, returning the kiss and placing her right hand on Jim's back. He pulls away slowly, and his soft, brown eyes gaze into Molly's, “You're beautiful,” he whispers, and he watches as her entire face turns bright pink.

“Do you really think so?” she pulls both of her hands into her lap and stares at them.

He lifts her chin delicately with his left hand, directing her gaze back to his face, “I know so,” he pauses, “Molly, I really do enjoy spending time with you. You're wonderful. It's just... it's complicated.”

“Why?” She tilts her head and scrunches her eyes, trying to understand, “Why is it complicated?”

“Look, I got us a room for a reason,” he explains, somewhat nervously, “That should tell you something.”

“I suppose so, but that still doesn't answer...”

“I know I said we'd talk but I don't really feel like talking right now.”

“Jim, I'm not sure that's such a good idea. I've loved spending time with you too, but I'm not really sure where we are. The two of us, I mean.”

“Maybe it's a little rude to ask, but can we just... try? To be honest, I'm a bit lost too, and I...” he trails off.

“So you're not sure if you're gay, or...?” she looks utterly baffled, “Is that what you're trying to tell me?”

“You're one of the nicest, sweetest people I've ever met, Molly, and I trust you. I know it's a lot to ask, but... I'd really appreciate it.”

Molly is torn. He hasn't even properly answered her questions, but it's obvious that he's conflicted too. He almost looks as if tears are forming in the corners of his eyes.

They've been having such a nice time, with the exception of their little tiff over dinner, and it seems like it would be a shame to cut things off if they could continue to be happy. But there's also the risk that this will ruin everything. If Jim _is_ gay, then maybe they could just be friends, but this could dismantle _everything_ about their relationship.

She sits in silence for several moments, considering, before Jim breaks her train of thought, “I'm sorry. It was too much to ask. I'll just... go. You can stay here, if you'd like, but I should go home.”

As he stands, he looks so lost, and Molly realises that if she lets him go, they will definitely be over. There isn't much of a chance of salvaging a friendship, let alone a romantic relationship, if he leaves like this. Not to mention that he's obviously having a hard time.

Molly has no trouble admitting that she's always wanted to be a healer. She's always been slightly jealous of surgeons and doctors who can heal patients, preventing them from ending up with her in the morgue – for a time at least. This might be her chance to help someone, someone who really seems as if he needs her help. A chance to make a difference in someone's life.

Just before he turns to leave, Molly stands and takes his hand. “Okay,” she murmurs.

“Are you sure?” he asks tentatively.

“Yeah,” she murmurs, taking both of his hands in hers. She stands on her toes to properly reach up and touch her lips to his. Jim responds by bringing his left hand up to meet Molly's face, and places his other hand on the small of her back, leading her backwards toward the bed. He holds her carefully as she gently sits back down on the end of the bed, and cradles her head before lying her down.

As she wraps her arms around Jim's waist, Molly glances up into his soft brown eyes and smiles. She vaguely realises that she's only known him for less than a week, but she has never once been given cause to worry or distrust him. She feels more comfortable with him after three dates than she does with Sherlock, who she has been working with for over a year. He simply has a way of making her heart melt, and maybe it's time to let Sherlock go – and perhaps Jim can help her do that.

Molly pulls her arms back in front of her, unbuttoning Jim's shirt, starting with the top button and working her way down. She notices that his chest is particularly bare, and as she undoes the last button, she draws her hand down the centre of his chest, making note of how soft his skin feels underneath her fingertips.

A small smile plays across his lips as he pulls his shirt out of his trousers, and discards it along with his jacket, letting them fall carelessly to the floor. As he leans back, Molly reaches for the hem of her own dress, pulling it up to her waist before Jim takes hold of the edge of the fabric and finishes pulling it over Molly's head. The dress is tossed aside as casually as Jim's jacket, into the far corner of the room. Molly notices Jim's eyes widen as he rakes his gaze over her undressed form.

“Molly,” he whispers again, taking her face in both hands, leaning down to capture her lips with his, more purposefully this time. She lets a small whine of pleasure escape her throat as he swipes his tongue across her bottom lip, and she parts them allowing him access. He leans forward more, his hips digging into hers, pressing their bodies together, and pushing her deeper into the mattress.

Molly works her hands between them, unbuttoning Jim's trousers, and sticking her hands down his pants on either side of his hips, working them down and off. She realises that his underwear is not the particular brand, nor the vibrant shade of green that Sherlock had mentioned earlier – which only reinforces her idea that she has made the right decision in discounting Sherlock's judgement. Besides, Jim treats her far better than Sherlock ever has.

Jim reaches tentatively around Molly's back, clumsily unclasping her black bra. She works her arms out of the straps, and tosses the garment across the room to join her rumpled dress in the far corner. She gasps Jim's name as he dips his fingers below the waistband of her pants, and pulls them down over her hips, and lets them drop to the floor beneath her feet.

He slowly moves his mouth from her lips and down the left side of her jawline, running his tongue across the sensitive skin of her neck, sucking slowly and languidly at the lobe of her ear. Molly whimpers slightly against the shell of his ear, eliciting a small, desperate sound from the back of Jim's throat.

He pulls away momentarily, reaches down and extracts a condom from the pocket of his discarded trousers. She nods silently, as he tears the wrapping. Molly reaches forward and unrolls the condom down his length.

“Please,” she practically purrs, pulling him back toward her, and rolling her hips forward and up and into Jim's, feeling his erection press against her inner thigh.

Jim gazes down into her eyes, as if contemplating whether or not he should.

“Please,” Molly pleads again, running her fingers slowly down Jim's spine. He shivers at the touch, and realigns their hips before slowly pushing himself in.

Molly's head lolls backward and her eyes close. “Jim,” she whispers, grappling for his hips with her hands. Meanwhile, Jim nudges her head to the side and continues to place kiss after kiss down the side of her neck, while pushing into her with slow, deep, even thrusts. Molly meets him each time with slow rolling of her hips.

Their pace continues to be slow and intimate, punctuated by breathy sighs and slight whispers. Molly opens her eyes, brushing her hand against the side of Jim's face, causing his eyes to open as well. She stares deep into his eyes, seeing herself reflected clearly in their dark surface.

“Jim,” she murmurs quietly as she rolls her hips more firmly, feeling the tremor as it courses through her body. The sounds Jim makes in response is somewhere between a whimper and a sigh as he comes as well.

Withdrawing himself, Jim continues to look into Molly's eyes. Disposing of the condom, Jim pulls back the sheets of the bed and crawls in, and Molly follows suit. Neither of them say a word as Molly curls up onto her side and Jim curls around her, holding her lightly. As Molly drifts off to sleep, she thinks about how this might be the start of something exciting and new. Something that will keep her out of trouble, and a way to move on from her fixation with Sherlock. But in the morning, when she is awakened by sunlight filtering in through the open blinds, Jim is nowhere to be found.

**END**


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